


The Settling of Dust

by vailkagami



Series: Within the Dissolve [5]
Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: M/M, attempts at comunication are made, or being the bigger stick for that matter, though sometimes the deciding factor is having the bigger stick, with varying results
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 14:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12986022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vailkagami/pseuds/vailkagami
Summary: Politics do not always dictate a pleasant course of action. Ornstein does not mind so much, but Artorias' habit of always following his moral compas can be as irritating and inconvenient as it is noble.Set decades beforeSilence, can stand alone.





	The Settling of Dust

When Ornstein the Dragon Slayer, hero of the first war, had personally recommended young knight Artorias for a leading position among their warriors to Lord Gwyn, and Lord Gwyn had offered it to Artorias during the victory feast only for Artorias to respectfully decline, Ornstein had been humiliated and angry. The next time he had met Artorias was during the tournament held in honor of Gwyn's family twice a decade, where Artorias had participated for the first time, representing the townships of the lower lands, past the Valley of Drakes. He had seemed regretful of the bad blood between them, while Ornstein had been resentful but too dignified to openly show it. When he, as the Captain of the army, fought his traditional match against Artorias as victor of the tournament, he had thought that he would never be able to forgive it if the other knight let him win in a misguided attempt at reparation.

It had not happened. Ornstein had fought with all he had, baring deadly force, but he had realized early on that he would not win this duel. Artorias' movements were more powerful than his, the reach of his great sword, as long as the man himself, was at no disadvantage to Ornstein's spear, and the same quick and nimble way of using the environment to his advantage that Ornstein had so admired on the battlefield now became his downfall.

Still he fought hard until the end, as his honor demanded, and he thought, afterward, that he had given Artorias a good fight, even if it eventually ended with his defeat. Artorias, for is part, seemed genuinely impressed as he offered his opponent a hand to help him up, and Ornstein took it, and something passed between them that moment that never went away again.

Gwyn, watching from his place of honor, certainly did not hold Artorias' previous rejection against him. He offered him a reward of his choice for his victory in the tournament, and Artorias, true to his nature, politely refused. He did care little for material offerings, nor honor and glory, but was obviously pleased to be able to present his impressive swordmanship, no doubt the result of grueling training as much as natural talent, in a context that involved no death and blood but only friendly competition.

Sadly, not all the competitors of that day were feeling all that friendly towards him at that point. While Ornstein believed that Artorias had meant no disrespect, many read his refusal of the reward as critique of those who had taken it before him, and Gwyn's reaction of pleasant surprise did not help matters at all. It soon became clear, in the years that followed, that while Artorias was friendly and approachable, he was somewhat clumsy in social or ceremonial matters. For all that he was a very intelligent man, he often did not consider or even see how some of the things he said or did were taken by the people around him.

During official events he preferred to keep to the back, to observe and not get involved, and he spoke as little as possible. It gave him a reputation of being a brooding loner. Whoever came up with that clearly had never seen him get cozy with his giant wolf, Ornstein thought sourly.

But then, of course they hadn't. Very few people had. Most people only saw that there was, in fact, a giant wolf.

Even after Gwyn had appointed his four elite knights, Artorias, while loyal and dedicated, had been somewhat bad at being a dutiful soldier following his master's lead. That was not necessarily a bad thing – they had not been chosen simply to be guards on a higher level, but also because Gwyn trusted their judgment and relied on their advice. Yet it was understood that once their lord made a decision, that decision was not to be questioned.

And yet, Artorias questioned, and protested. He rarely went and did things without permission, but he would argue until such a permission was given. One such case was that of a small settlement of humans that had been established in a bountiful valley near New Londo. They had gone unnoticed for a while and then ignored, assuming they were merely passing through, but when a troop of soldiers found them planting crops as if they had a right to the place, and the villagers reacted with force to the order to leave, Gwyn gave the order to go and take out these unwelcome guests.

There were three more villages, it turned out, with a slowly growing population, and they refused to bow to the lords of the land. They could not be allowed to linger there.

“We will offer them the chance to leave peacefully,” Gwyn explained when Artorias protested what was, in his eyes, the murder of civilians. “They know the consequences; it is their choice.”

“My Lord, it is not a choice at all. They came here starving; if they leave they will. These people put all the resources they had left into that land. They cannot leave. They _will_ fight.”

“Then that is how it will be.” Gwny was very patient with this, Ornstein thought. He listened to Artorias' arguments and took the time to explain his decision. “Had they come to us and requested this land, we might have given it to them. But they did not. They came and took it, as if it were their right. We need to make them understand it is not.”

“They come from the western lands that are torn by unrest, under the rule of a cruel king,” Artorias pointed out. “I believe they are simply too afraid to pledge themselves to you, or anyone, again.”

“That is regrettable, but it changes nothing. I am not fond of what will have to happen, but it must.” Gwyn took Artorias by the arm and gently pulled him over to the map on the table. “Our land is surrounded by other lands, and not all of them are our friends. We keep the peace by being powerful. If we allowed anyone, for whatever reason, to simply take from us, this will signal others that we are too weak to hold on to what is ours. They will attack, and more than those few humans will die in the war that results.”

Artorias was not blind; he knew that Gwyn was not planning the death of these humans without reason, and that the situation could, indeed, get much worse. He did have obvious trouble, however, to rank the abstract threat of a possible future conflict above the very real and immediate threat against these people's lives.

If the settlers asked for permission to stay and the protection of Anor Londo, and Gwyn granted it, he argued, this would actually strengthen his position rather than weaken it, as it would spread word of his generosity in face of need, and a good, strong ruler depended on the loyalty of his subjects. Gwyn agreed but pointed out that the notion was pointless if the people of the village refused to swear fealty to him.

Gough was listening to the exchange with interest. Ornstein listened to it with impatience. He could see Gwyn's point, and while he was not keen on causing the deaths of people who were, at the end of the day, no threat at all to the troop that would likely slaughter them, the far reaching consequences of doing nothing made it easy for him to accept it as necessary and move on. Those humans had to know that their invasion would not be tolerated, yet they had opted to simply stay and take what wasn't theirs, never even attempting to make peace with the lords of the realm. Ciaran was right; humans always took, without consideration or foresight. As far as Ornstein was concerned, they were the architects of their own fate, even if that fate was a sad one.

In the end, Artorias – ever respectfully – managed to talk Gwyn into allowing him to go to the villages in order to talk them into leaving peacefully or openly requesting a place among the subjects of the Lord of Sunlight. From all Ornstein had heard, he saw little point in that – those humans, prideful and arrogant, would underestimate the ease with which they would be defeated and decline the offer. Perhaps Artorias was even in danger going there alone, as he was painfully naive sometimes when it came to creatures that had no reason to harm him.

He would not take Sif, he said before he left. The great wolf would be too much of a threatening beast in the eyes of the comparatively small humans, who had a tendency to lash out when frightened. He left an hour after Gwyn had closed their meeting. Ornstein left an hour after him.

He arrived at the settlement the next day, alone. For once, he traveled without soldiers to accompany him, and even without his armor. While he did wear armored clothes, they were light and a lot more unassuming and less intimidating than the golden metal lion he usually represented. The road he traveled he was not dangerous – in the forest there were some beasts that he saw from a distance or heard moving through the under wood, but none came close, and if any of them had attacked him, he would have been able to take it, even without his armor.

Although he would rather not upset Artorias by killing one of his furry friends or being eaten by one, even if right now he was very annoyed with him.

  


-

  


Artorias neared the settlement from the shadow of the rocks and the woods, but he never tried to keep his presence a secret. The humans he came to see rarely left their assortment of houses, knowing they were not welcome here and afraid of the greater beasts striding through the Royal Wood, so he was very close to the first houses before one of them spotted him.

Not carrying obvious weapons or armor, he hoped that he would seem harmless enough, but the fact that he towered over even the tallest of them had to be intimidating. All he had to get him through this first contact was the hope that those he met would not think he was a threat simply by looking as he did and decide to attack.

They did not. The first minutes were tense, but eventually Artorias convinced the two men he met on the narrow path leading to the cliff that he meant them no harm and had, in fact, come to warn them. They finally led him to meet their leader: the aging man who had led them here from a country torn by civil war.

He could see the hardship they had gone through in all of their faces. While no one attacked him, he saw mistrust and hostility in the few dozen men, women, and children he met before he ducked into the hut that was, for him, uncomfortably low.

They ended up facing each other from opposite sides of the heart in the center of the room. Artorias sat cross legged on the floor because it was the easiest way for him to store his long legs, and Old Horalt, the leader, sat in the same position, though whether it was for reasons of ceremony or convenience, Artorias could not tell.

“You are the knight Artorias,” the old human said. “I have heard many things about you even before entering this land. Good things, I admit.”

His accent was thick, but he was easy to understand. Artorias bowed his head to show his respect. “So you will hear me out?”

“It depends,” Horalt replied, “on what you have to say. If you came here to tell us to leave, then I am afraid we will have to give you the same answer we gave those who came before you. And then what? Will you strike us down with your mighty sword?”

The last sentence was almost mocking. Artorias had not come with his mighty sword, and he recognized the threat for what it was. Horalt was willing to fight, that much was obvious, and Artorias' heart fell. People who were willing to fight no matter what, in this context, were people who were very likely going to die.

“No,” he said. “But I have come to warn you of the consequences of staying. We will not force you to leave, however, nor do we want you dead; Lord Gwyn is willing let you stay and keep this valley for yourself, if you ask for it rather than simply take it.”

There was talk among the onlookers. Hushed voices. They did not sound happy.

Horalt's mouth twisted into a quick grimace. “We have come here fleeing from another lord that would 'let us' stay on his land, for a price. We risked everything simply to escape him in the end, and we will not go back to that. This is our land, and we're going to fight for it.”

“But it is not yours,” Artorias pointed out. “You simply took it, without permission, and Lord Gwyn will not stand for it. Do you not see? He cannot. It will invite others to do the same. For the good of his kingdom, he is forced to make you an official part of it or drive you away.”

“He can try,” someone from the back of the room quipped in, and assertive murmur traveled through the bystanders. Artorias looked at them, pleading and frustrated. They were blind, and stupid. They would risk the lives of their families without even trying for an alternative.

He could see that there would be no backing down; they had clearly made their decision, too scared by past experience to take any risk with a new lord, but he feared that they were not truly aware of how hopeless their situation was. They did not stand any chance of making it through that fight, and even if by some miracle they survived the first few soldiers send to remove them, there would be ever more, until they were gone. Somehow, they still seemed to think that stubbornness and willpower would get them through this and give them all they ever wanted with no price to be paid, if only they accepted no compromises. Artorias had met people like that before. He knew that will alone was rarely enough, and felt despair well up inside him when he saw more and more that these people – and their children, and everyone depending on them – could not be helped.

“Do you not see?” he pleaded with them. “You will all die if you insist on your way. We are not asking for much; merely that you allow us to help you while also keeping the peace in this land.”

“I appreciate what you are trying to do for us,” Horalt said evenly. “I believe that you mean well, but we know that lords cannot be trusted, and we will not give up without a fight.”

“Then you are foolish, and you all will die,” a new voice sounded. Horalt jumped to his feet, everyone else turned in shock and reached for knifes and short swords that they kept on their persons. Artorias merely turned, no less surprised but not overly alarmed, looking up at Ornstein from his position on the floor.

The dragon slayer was wearing only light armor, no helmet. His face was so rarely seen in public – rarer, even, than Artorias' own – that certainly none of the surrounding humans knew who he was. To them he was merely another lord, with bronze skin, dark eyes, and black hair that resembled the mane of the animal that stood for him. While not quite as tall as Artorias himself, the more muscular Ornstein was an impressive figure, and certainly the villagers already had a notion that he was a dangerous foe if crossed, as he held two of them at sword point as he spoke.

“You do not even begin to understand how hopelessly outmatched you are,” Ornstein continued. All the villagers were at arms now, but none of them attacked out of fear for their friends' lives. It showed Artorias that they were not nearly as willing to sacrifice everything as they thought they were, and reminded him that they were not dealing with trained warriors here but merely with farmers with swords. “Knight Artorias and I could kill all of you right here, with no weapons but what we find in that hut and no armor. There are countless knights like us waiting to come here. Are you truly willing to throw away your lives for nothing? Then come at us now, and get it over with.”

One of the villagers actually took him up on the challenge, though whether it was out of determination or because he feared Ornstein would put his blade through the two men before him, Artorias dared not say. His breath caught for a moment when Ornstein parried the attack with ease, but while he threw the attacker to the ground afterward, he did not follow through with a counter attack that would have ended the man's life and would have ruined any chance of this day not ending in a bloodbath.

But his concern was for naught. If anything, Ornstein's easy dealing with them and the impression he gave of truly not caring if he had to murder all of them as long as they discontinued wasting his time, surely convinced the humans to reconsider their plan of action. There were more murmurs. Fearful shouts. Parents ushered their younger children away as quickly as possible.

“You told me you were willing to sacrifice yourself and all those who rely on you,” Artorias said to the old leader who was now staring at Ornstein in rage and fear. “Clearly this is not the case. Now that each of us knows where the other stands, let us restart our conversation.”

In the end it took until well into the night before Artorias and Ornstein left the village, along with Horalt, another man, and an elderly woman, who would accompany them to Anor Londo and publicly ask Gwyn for his permission to stay in his kingdom as his subjects. Artorias could see that it grated on them and he hoped that they would go through with it and not change their minds at the last second. He understood, though, that it was fear rather than pride that made them so defiant, and once they had truly understood that their choice was not between possible death and quasi slavery but between absolutely certain death and a probably fairly acceptable life, they had been willing to see reason.

Artorias got to know them better on the road to the capital. Ornstein, for his part, held back, kept his distance, and made it clear that he did not want to be near any of them, his fellow knight included. Artorias wondered why he even stayed with them rather than forge ahead alone.

Horalt and his people, he learned during their trip, had tried to go to Astora first, but patrolling knights had happened upon them near the border and forced them to turn around. The Fivefinger Delta had been their next stop – it was, so they had heard, populated mostly by farmers; simple folks like them who would, they were certain, have sympathy for their plight and let them live amongst them. But the people of the delta had not wanted strangers who did not know their way of life and would bring change and uncertainty. Horalt's group had been chased away, losing a dozen to the most aggressive pursuers. By the time they reached Lordran, they were tired of running.

In return, Artorias told them of the people of Oolacile, who, though almost a day's walk away, would be their nearest neighbors, and of their gentle ways that sought magic from nature. He told them of the forest and its beasts, imploring the humans to respect them, else a peaceful existence in the place they had chosen for themselves would not be possible. He considered introducing Horalt to Alvina, then decided against it. The ancient feline would make herself known if she so wished.

Once they reached Anor Londo, Ornstein left them without a word. Artorias stayed close to their guests in case any problem arose, and they appeared to feel more secure in his presence than they were around anyone else, even people their own size. Ciaran dropped by shortly to inform him that Gough had left for the mountains he came from and would not return within the year. She wore her mask and aside from an assessing look at the three humans, she had no attention to spare for Artorias' companions.

Sif joined them on the steps of the cathedral, after they had been summoned to see Lord Gwyn. Young Irwad gasped in shock when she showed up and Old Assina drew her dagger, and Artorias told his faithful friend to stay away even as he assured the humans that she was not to be feared.

The audience with Gwyn as brief and uncomfortable, but it went over without incident, and Horalt swallowed his pride and fear enough to publicly apologize for their invasion and offer their loyalty in return for the right to stay in the fertile valley that no one else was using. Gwyn graciously granted it. In the evening, because it was important to send a message to the rest of the land, they would seal this with a feast.

Artorias was not excited about going through that but accepted it as a part of how things were. All knights of Gwyn were required to be at their lord's side for events like that unless other duties kept them away. In this case, Hawkeye Gough would not be there, as the event was not important enough to call him back from his trip.

Artorias wondered if there was an urgent reason for his giant friend to have left for the mountains or if he simply needed to get away from the city. Anor Londo, while generally accommodating to people of all sizes, had not been designed for true giants. Only the blacksmith was a permanent resident of the capital, and while Gough treasured long talks with all of his friends, Artorias knew that there were gabs in their understanding of the world that could not be breached. Perhaps the ancient archer needed to be around people, for a change, who shared his memories of the gray crags and understood how _small_ everything was.

Artorias stayed with their guests until briefly before the event, trying to give them some security in this new and intimidating environment, so different from their humble village or the distant kingdom they came from; a rough place of dark woods, rocky fields, and cliffs dominated by iron and steel. Horalt was also apprehensive of the feast, though Artorias assured him nothing was expected of him but to be present and see it through to the end. Gwyn's generous welcome had already taken away much of the villagers' fear, but they doubtlessly noted that many of the people of this overwhelming city did not look all too kindly upon humans, and less so upon human peasants.

Still, even though they remained nervous, excitement and amazement slowly began to win them over. Artorias simply lingered nearby while they explored the parts of the cathedral area open to them, and finally left them to two servants waiting to help them get ready for the feast, as Gwyn's family would be present, as well as a representative from Zena who happened to be here at this time, and they could not attend looking like people who worked on fields.

Artorias himself had to change out of his traveling clothes and bathe before dressing in his unloved ceremonial attire. As usual, a servant would show up, as if by magic, to put his long hair into an elaborate braid rather than the simple tie normally hidden by his armor. He would bear it without complaint, just as Horalt, Assina and Irwad would have to bear being dressed up for the benefit of people who would not accept them the way they were.

  


-

  


It was evening, out in the world. Ornstein could tell, because in this part of the cathedral, the furthest from the throne room, the outside world could be seen. The stone surrounding him was drenched in sunlight, but when he looked to the horizon, he saw a sky deep blue in the wake of a sun that had just set.

It was a magnificent sight that he both admired and loathed. They were removed from the rest of the world here, and the world continued to spin without them.

But the contrast was magnificent, and for a moment the Dragon Slayer stood still on the balcony and closed eyes against the distant night, enjoying the softest of breezes that brushed his skin like a caress.

He shivered in a way that had nothing to do with cold and opened his eyes, pulling himself out of the moment. The anger that sat deep in his stomach returned to the surface. He was not quite certain why he was here, only that he had needed to escape the festivities now that his absence would be tolerated.

His ceremonial clothes, pants with armor that was more decorative than practical and a gold and greed tunic, felt strange and uncomfortable around him, for all the time he had already worn their likes. Ornstein appreciated clothes of high quality and the elegance appropriate for this place when he did not wear his armor, but these clothes, while made of fine silk and precious leather, were designed with nothing but their visual expression in mind, and lacked any concessions to comfort or practicality.

In these clothes Ornstein attracted a different kind of attention than in his armor – one he was not entirely comfortable with. He wanted to be judged by his strength in battle and his prowess as a commander, not by the look of his shirt.

At least they had left his hair untouched, the voluminous black mane being most impressive in its natural state. Artorias' hair, also black but much longer and very straight, usually ended up braided in creative ways that Ornstein suspected served mostly to delight the servants tasked with braiding it. Although he did have to admit that it was nice to look at, he knew Artorias disliked the procedure and attention, and his own fingers often twitched to run through those braids and either undo them or transform them into a tangled mess...

Ciaran wore slightly more elaborate clothes this night, but her mask and hood remained firmly in their place. Her face not being recognizable played a large role in her part as a leader of assassins and spies. Ornstein knew for a fact that she even cast spells onto her self that hid her form so she would remain unrecognized even if anyone should manage to tear away her mask.

Even though she was small like them, the three humans seemed rather intimidated by her, which secretly amused Ornstein – just like Gwyn seemed amused every time he got to force Ornstein and Artorias to appear in public wearing the ceremonial robes he knew they loathed. Neither of them had ever said so, of course. It was simply something someone who knew them as well as their lord did would see.

Other people, however, would not. These events, even those dedicated to such small-town farmers as their current guests of honor, were meant for them to be seen and make an impression outside of the battlefield, and while Artorias could not quite mask a certain helplessness when it came to the often ridiculous rules of etiquette and the interest many people would have in his person, be it positive or negative, rather than his skill with the sword, he did carry himself with a quiet grace through the background of the festivities that Ornstein could not help but admire.

Then again, he was a graceful creature, and the tailor who had once been tasked with designing a ceremonial robe for him had, fortunately, recognized that and emphasized his natural elegance rather than going over the top with ornamentation.

It even resembled his armor in the way it clung to his tall and deceptively thin frame, even though it was not all that tight. There was barely any actual armor included safe for the protective bits around his shins and lower arms, the latter only partially visible underneath the wide sleeves of the twilight blue shirt, with its silver rims and intricate light blue pattern that only from the right angle depicted a wolf. The silken trousers were black, matching the waist-long curtain of hair. Ornstein was, though he would never admit it, quite fond of this set of clothes. Tonight, with the annoyance he had been feeling for days, he did not want to be and it annoyed him even more.

He had not seen Artorias for an hour, at least. The other knight was a master at politely melting further and further into the background after the food was served and all the official speeches and introductions had been made, until he disappeared altogether and no one could say for certain when he had last been seen. This usually amused Ornstein, but tonight he was irritated with Artoiras for doing it because this whole thing only happened because of his insistence of finding an alternative to killing those settlers, and the least he could do was to sit through it with the rest of them.

But he was here, and it was not a surprise. Artorias liked this place as much as Ornstein did and probably did not detest it half as much, or at all. And it was close enough to the hall of feasts that he could be back in less than a minute and even show up every now and again to pretend he had never left at all. Festivities like this, like any social and ceremonial gatherings of many people, often tried him out quickly, he had once explained to Ornstein, who grew bored with them but suspected it was not quite the same.

Or maybe he just missed Sif, who was generally not invited to such events, unless the point was to demonstrate strength and present to four knight in a manner that everyone would recognize.

Tonight, obviously, the wolf was missing. Artorias was on the same balcony as Ornstein, which spanned around the winding corner of the building. Ornstein had seen him there minutes ago but had not yet made the decision to approach him. They would likely fight, and then they would have to go back into the hall and pretend nothing had happened. It would make an awkward night worse.

Artorias did not give him the chance to postpone their confrontation, however. Having apparently decided that he had been gone long enough, he walked back towards the door leading into the building. Surprise showed on his face for a second upon spotting his fellow knight, replaced by, of all things, a smile.

“Ornstein,” he greeted. “I have not thanked you yet. I would not have been able to convince Horalt without you.”

“Indeed you would not,” Ornstein said with a frown. “And I am not sure you should have. This was not a problem worth this much effort.”

Artorias' expression clouded. “People are alive because of this effort.”

“And what difference does it make to us? They were given a chance and they did not want to take it. They are the architects of their own fate, and yet you would defy Lord Gwyn over it.”

“They were also the architects of the fate of their followers and their children. Lord Gwyn was aware of that, or we would not be here. I went with his permission.”

“Because this problem was not significant or urgent enough to not allow delays. What if it had been? The next time something like this comes up and you feel it wrong to sacrifice the few for the good of many, will you stand against us once again?”

“I did not stand against you,” Artorias protested. “I merely argued in their favor, as it is our duty as knights to stand up for those who need it.”

“It is our duty to serve our Lord and our land, and sometimes sacrifices have to be made for that,” Ornstein snapped. Artorias was doing it again; being so very noble without realizing that his words could be seen as criticism of those he was directing them at. For Ornstein knew that he did not think him selfish or cruel, and that he respected his viewpoint as he respected Gwyn's. And yet he felt exposed in some sort of shortcoming, when really this was simply Artorias being more naive than he ought to allow himself to be.

“But we should not ever see these sacrifices as the best option, or not look beyond them to find another way. Perhaps there will not be one, but we owe it to those relying on us to at least try.”

Artorias was speaking calmly; it was rare to see him angry, or at least rare for him to show it. He still looked tense, and Ornstein grew tenser by the second because he could not deny that the other knight was right, and that without his interference and Gwyn's indulgence of him, they would have made a mistake and never even wasted another thought on it.

Certainly there was a reason why Gwyn had chosen Atrorias for his knights – insisted on him, really. And perhaps that reason was not simply Artorias' skill in battle but his views and ideas, often so different from those of the old warriors who had shaped the world so far. Perhaps more important than the fact that he was a good warrior himself was the fact that he was a good man. One even Ornstein sometimes found himself looking up to, even when he was annoyed that Artorias would waste his noble efforts on subjects he deemed unworthy.

Perhaps especially then.

But annoyed he was. Because Artorias was also naive and foolish and, so Ornstein believed, blind to the consequences of his actions that served mostly his own sense of right and wrong without considering the ripples they would cause. It did not matter how attentive he listened when Gwyn explained his reasoning to him. Ornstein worried that the time would come when Gwyn would not back down from a decision Artorias did not like and Artorias would not be able to find a better way, and then they would find out if he truly would stand with them.

Against all evidence, Ornstein believed that he would. If there truly was no other way, if the consequences of not doing it would be worse than what they had to do, he would be there with Gwyn, and Ornstein, and the others. The Dragon Slayer hoped it would never come to that, even though a part of him that was disgraceful and bitter sometimes wanted for Artorias to fail in his idealism and suffer the consequences of his choices, simply so that he would learn something from it.

“You are too naive, too easily swayed by those who need help no matter whether or not they deserve it. And Lord Gwyn is a careless if he keeps indulging you. We should not be here now.”

“And yet we are, and it is thanks to you,” Artorias pointed out. “Why did you help, if you thought it pointless and wrong?”

“Things had been set in motion. It was my duty to help you, even if you are a fool.”

“Then why would you question my loyalty to our lord if you are so ready to follow me?”

“I am not. It was a moment of indulgence that will not be repeated. I do not agree with Lord Gwyn in letting you do this. From the very start you have refused to fall in line. Be sure not to become a disgrace to our group.”

Artorias narrowed his eyes. “From the beginning you have worked to include me in said group you now accuse me of letting down.” He did not point out that he had not wanted to join in the first place, had been perfectly content of being a knight of no consequence far away, barely recognized for his achievements, and yet the words were there, unspoken, and Ornstein balled his fists, wondering if this evening would end in violence.

“And from the beginning you have done your best to embarrass me! For months I have told Gwyn of your skill and wisdom in battle until he was willing to take my word for it and extent his hand to you, and you slapped it away. Do you even begin to understand how humiliating that was to me?”

“I do,” Artorias confessed, calm again. “And I am sorry. But I felt that accepting would have been a mistake working to the disadvantage of many people, and so I sacrificed for the greater good.”

“You sacrificed my pride,” Ornstein spat. “How selfless.”

“I sacrificed any chance for us to ever be friends,” Artorias clarified. “No matter how much I would have liked to, I had to follow my own path even knowing you would never forgive this slight. And yes, I did sacrifice your pride. I felt that what I was protecting was worth more than that, and even now I am certain that you agree.”

“I do.” It cost Ornstein nothing to admit that. “And despite your continued dismissal of my efforts for you I have considered us friends these past years and it pains me if you do not share the sentiment. Even though I knew my endorsement meant nothing to you.”

“It meant a lot to me – more than you can imagine, and not merely because I am not without pride myself. But I could not give up what I had been doing even for that, no matter how much I wanted to live up to your expectations. Surely you understand.”

“You arrogant fool,” Ornstain hissed between clenched teeth. “You always insist on being right and then simply rely on everyone else agreeing with you.” He took a step closer to the other knight and reached out to grab the cowl so elegantly draped around his neck, yet ended up foregoing it in favor of taking hold of his neck instead.

Artorias met his gaze with only the slightest hint of insecurity as he said, “Not everyone, Knight Ornstein. Only you.”

“Always expecting so much of people,” Ornstein growled, and took another step forward. The motion pushed Artorias back, against the wall, and Ornstein closed the last gab between them and kissed him. The thin lips under his were as soft as they looked and they parted, but whether in invitation or surprise he could not say. Surprise was what he himself was feeling, having never planned this moment, though he would be untrue to himself if he claimed to never have thought about it.

Artorias was taller than him, but not so much that this was uncomfortable. Ornstein had never kissed anyone taller than him before, had barely kissed anyone at all in relation to the number of years he had lived, as carnal relations were frowned upon among the elite knights that were to be pure and exist for duty alone. He placed his free hand against the stone wall beside Artorias' head for balance and deepened the kiss, refusing to give in to the shock of this moment that tried to push him out of it with almost physical force.

Artorias did not return the kiss, nor did he resist when Ornstein pushed his tongue past his lips. Oh, to be here, in this moment! Was it the long deprivation that had made him so hungry for this? How long had it been since he had last felt the skin of another being against his palms like this? Had it driven him mad – so mad that he would kiss Artorias of all people, not regretting it, wanting more? How long had he wanted his fellow knight? Since the sun had begun to set on this day or since he had first laid eyes on him in the midst of fire and carnage, splattered with blood?

And what would he do if Artorias did not stop him? Would he stop himself? Could he, yet?

Discipline was in his blood. He followed orders and met expectations. It was expected of him not to have needs, but when Artorias opened his mouth a little further and another tongue brushed against his, Ornstein allowed himself to have this and damn expectations. He wanted. And Artorias was so infuriating, and he was so precious, and so beautiful.

And yet it was Ornstein who broke the kiss, just when Artorias was starting to react to it, and it had to feel like mockery, hadn't it, but that was not what it was, nor was it fear, or the sudden question of how far they were willing to take this.

“We should go back,” Ornstein said, all traces of anger and none of the tension gone from his voice. They stood in a manner that their foreheads were almost touching. “Someone will come looking for us eventually.”

“You are right.” Artorias straightened. There was nothing Ornstein could make of the tone of his voice. “I have been gone for too long.”

He had. The feast was still going on, and while a certain amount of absence was tolerated, they still had a duty of presence to fulfill. So they returned, together, with no one thinking that they had done anything other than talk. Ornstein caught Gwyn throwing them looks that seemed speculative, perhaps, although any speculation he might make would inevitably go in the wrong direction. In the end he said nothing, not even when the event was over and he officially dismissed them.

Ornstein did not talk to Artorias again that night. The next morning, Artorias accompanied the humans back to their village and Ornstein took some of his knights out on a training mission to clear his mind after a short and restless night.

  



End file.
